Those Children
by Dogfancy
Summary: England wasn't sure where he was at, but it was pretty cold and there was a little boy with his sisters there... The first contact between England and Russia, featuring France, Ukraine and Belarus!


When England had first met him, it was with France. Unfortunately, the elder of the two didn't seem to know what to do either. It was frightfully cold, piercing through their traveling cloaks and deep into their blood. If Arthur didn't know any better (not that he did), he would have thought that his body was going to freeze solid. However, the child-ish type of… being before them was perfectly comfortable. His hair whipped every movement as he danced with two other girls, one of them contently watching from the sidelines. Despite being somewhat tall for his age, most likely not any older than Arthur, let alone Francis, the boy was very nimble on his feet, looking very impish as his body bounced in tune with their chanting, a harmonious, blabbering song that neither European could make heads or tails of.

They had stopped when the sister eyed them wearily from the corner of her eye, stopping on the cold snow beside a group of people that seemed to block away their own children. The boy stopped as well, albeit not paying attention and taking joy in experimentally biting into a winter flower that had slipped out of the cold, dense snow, a dark red contrasting the light bluish tinge of the winter. Francis stepped forth, cautiously, and held out a hand. His slender fingers made contact with the girl's and his eyes locked onto hers, twinkling with a curiosity that seemed almost feral and imperialistic. "_B-Bonjour_!" he chirped, voice quivering from anxiety, "_Je suis Royaume des Francs_!"

The boy, almost in an instant, materialized next to his sister, a tan scarf obediently trailing behind him. With bright eyes he stared at Arthur with the sort of cruelty that made him cringe under the gaze. A feigned smile broke onto his face and he warbled, "_All_- ah!" His sister sharply nudged him in the rib and whispered something in his hear. His head tilted adorably, eyebrows knitted until he laughed, "_Zdravstvuyte_!"

A silence fell over them, chilling each but the boy and the quiet sister to the bone. He simply smiled with wide eyes and hands fiddling with the end of the simple adornment wrapped around his neck, covering his chin. In a sudden burst of knowledge and perhaps even some superiority, Arthur blurted, "Do you understand?" It wasn't in any particular language that was known, not English, nor French, nor Slavic. It was something that made France cringe uncertainly.

There was another pregnant pause, and the quietest of the children whispered, "Yes," in the stagnant, stale air. "Do you mind coming with us?" Francis mumbled, gripping onto the girl's hand tenderly. All three nodded, gripping each other's cold hands in a chain between them. The adults and citizens around them looked at each other and went about their own business, a sense of comfort and _warmth_ fluttering above them.

They guided themselves into a cabin-like structure, simple in design yet effective against the uncomfortable frostbite that nipped at their fingers and toes. "_Ya_ Ivan!" the little boy said, folding his legs and sitting by the fire while the youngest gripped at his arm tightly, softly and stoically murmuring, "_Ya_ Natalya." The last of them bobbed her head and brushed through her platinum hair, wringing out snow and humming, "_Ya_ Yekaterina!" With a motherly impression she repeated her actions with her siblings before settling down and warming her hands.

"I'm Arthur, more formally known as the nation of England," England stated, letting his head rise and lips form in a tight line. France leaned casually and smiled brilliantly, a finger twirling at his twirling blonde hair, "As I have said, I am France, but you may call me…" he paused to take a lily from his belt buckle (it was for good luck on long journeys, in other words, a gift should he meet any pretty girls) and handed it to Natalya, "Francis."

She pouted and stared at the object, roughly grabbing it and slipping it in Ivan's hair. He absently tilted to the side to give her access, inquiring, "Nation? Another?" He laid his hand on his lap politely and giggled, "I'm the nation of Russia!" He turned to Natalya, who was admiring him with a something that both Francis and Arthur recognized as something that resembled puppy love. "This is my younger sister, Belarus." Yekaterina wriggled out of a simple cape and, muffled by the cheap fibers that covered her face, yelped, "I'm Ukraine! I'm the oldest!"

"Oldest?" Arthur inquired, studying Russia, "But you're too tall!" Something akin to the look of a dangerous animal flickered in Ivan's eyes for just a moment before he tipped his head, "But I am still younger, da?"

"Da?…"

"Da!" For a moment, England considered that he was some strange fairy by the way he kept giggling out everything. Not only that but, unlike his sisters, his eyes seemed to have some sort of ethereal color, a soft lavender. There was just something about him… France flipped his hair away from his face and rubbed the cold away from his nose with a poor attempt at conversation, "How do you live with this cold? _C'est horrible!_"

Ukraine leaned into the fire and let her gaze wander up in thought before finally replying, "I don't know!" with a small smile. Francis leaned down to Arthur and purred, "_Mignonne, non?"_ with a catty smirk. England slapped his shoulder and snorted, "Don't say it like that!" He straightened himself and opened his mouth to say something, until a distinct feeling of a bird, theoretically being another Pierre, perched on his head. He heard the three Slavics gasp quietly and look at the strange bird wearily. Of course they had seen birds, but not of this kind.

"Oh?" Francis whispered, taking hold of the paper strapped to the leg of the creature. He unraveled it from the fine red ribbon and let the fabric fall onto the cold ground, reading the note carefully. With wide eyes, Ivan scrambled to pick up the item and scurry back to his place, stroking it tenderly. Arthur stared with a bemused look, "It's only a ribbon."

"It's soft, da?" Russia sighed, "And red…" Without loosing the happiness that glowed on his face, he added, "Like blood!" England sputtered and pulled at France's tunic frantically. The older scowled and pushed him away, rapidly scorning him in French before rolling the parchment and slipping it into his pocket and allowing the bird to sit on his shoulder.

Ivan had taken to wrapping a bow in Natalya's hair, which made a light blush creep on her pallid face. His smile grew wider when he finished, patting her soft hair and sitting back down. "Why're you here anyway?" he asked, a blank smile still gracing his features. France laughed and nodded, "Ah, _oui!_ For the sake of trade and exploration!" England took his cue and fished grapes, liquor, and a bottle of greenish lantern oil. From his shoulder bag he produced an iron lantern, heavy enough to make him tip when he placed it down.

Francis internally chuckled at the look of wonder on the other childrens' faces, words spilling out of his mouth fluently, like a smooth wine, as he babbled on about the purpose of the objects. As he started talking about the liquor, Ivan hopped up and skidded to a separate confinement, bringing out a crude flask that sloshed with his movements. "Bодка, da?" he explained, "Poland gave it to me!" Internally, he darkly added, "After I kicked his ass." He placed it next to the European liquor and pushed it forward, "It makes you warm when you drink it! But…" with his face twisted in thought, he put a finger to his lips and stared at the flask, "It's hard to do things or talk after you do drink it… And it's hard to remember what happened the next day, da?" England didn't even notice when he started to drift asleep from the insistent, but oh-so-boring chattering.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur was shaken awake by the smell of something that was sweet in a very specific way, and warm. He wasn't even aware that he was sleeping until he caught scent of whatever was set in front of them and was roused back to consciousness. Wooden bowls filled with a vivid red soup that, in all honesty, didn't look all that bad. A piece of bread was set on top of it, dry and hard. Without thinking he picked up the bowl and gently lapped at the hot stew. Out of the corner of his eye, France was doing the same, pale eyelashes falling over his eyes contently at the first warm meal in a long while.

Ivan seemed to vacuum his borscht and even ate some of Natalya's crunchy bread. His cheeks were puffed like a squirrel with food shoved into his mouth, and it took him a good long while to finally swallow it down with tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. Ukraine pouted around her bowl and grumbled, "You're going to be a giant when you grow up if you keep eating like that." He wiped the wetness from his eyes and whined, "I'm already taller than both of you though!" Arthur's lips twitched up into a smirk for a moment, amused, and wishing that he had siblings like that at the same time.

**OMAKE: Centuries Later…**

"Get off of me, twit," Arthur growled under his breath, pushed down awkwardly as Ivan leaned on him for support. He chuckled and pushed more of his weight down through his elbow. "Ow! Bloody hell, there's a table right there!" He pushed off the offending arm and leaned forward, supporting his head with his hands, "Or are you too far behind back there in Russia that you don't have any tables to lean on?!"

"Don't be so mean, Ar-thur!" Ivan cooed, sitting erect in his seat, still feigning his cruel, deceiving smile. England scowled and crossed his arms, staring daggers, "You just think that I can't fight back because I'm short, eh?" He thought for a moment before accusingly snapping, "Perhaps you're just too tall!"

Ivan's eyes widened for a moment in a burst of déjà vu. He smiled warmly, turning and knowingly saying, "Yekaterina said I was going to be a giant because I ate more than her and Natalya, da?" Across Arthur's face was an amused smirk.

* * *

A/N: Okay, yes, a short oneshot. Just some bits of practice and stuff. I'm fond of child England and preteen France, as well as sibling fluff between Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, so I combined them into one giant monstrosity xD;. I have no idea what time period this is in, though I guess it would be back when France was considered Francia, which translates into "the land of Franks" and when England was probably... I don't know... But anyway, yessss! Thank you Jaensdenim for France's corrections!

_Translations_** + info**:  
_Bonjour! Je suis __Royaume des Francs__!: Hello! I'm [France]!_ I wanted to give France his prototype name as I like to call it.  
_Zdravstvuyte!: Hello (formal)!_ At first he was going to say "Allo!", but that's probably the most informal way of talking to someone. I think that it's a more modern phrase, however, I don't think that the Holy Roman Empire had alarm clocks in the 17th century xD.  
_Ya [name].: I am [name]._  
The **lily** is the national flower of France and I assume that, since he's probably around the age where his hormones are kicking in, he's probably going to be flirting with lots of girls. As I recall, in canon, France tries to make advances on Belarus, only to be declined since she wants to marry Russia, which is also why she tied the lily in his hair.  
If you saw the strip or watched the episode that featured Russia and his sisters, you probably noticed that he's the **tallest** out of all of them, despite being the middle child. A kid that grows that much needs to eat a little more than the others, but, since they were relatively poor, I can see why Ukraine would scold him for eating Belarus's food (even if she did it willingly to make him happy). That's also why he ate the flower, purely out of curiosity and hunger.  
_C'est horrible!: It's horrible!_ I know it can get pretty cold in some places in Europe, but, with the technology and clothing at this story's time period, I don't think any country is as mind-blowingly cold as Russia. Being a California girl, I know that if you're not used to the weather in the place you're visiting (say I go to Alaska when it's normally as hot as an oven in California), it effects you more.  
_Mignonne, non?: Cute, no?_ I have full confidence that France would try to get little England a girlfriend for some reason...  
_Bодка:_ Vodka in cryllic. Sure, the alphabet looks similar, but a lot of the letters make completely different sounds than in English.  
Has anyone ever tried eating way too much at once? It feels like you're trying to swallow an anvil and is quite painful. As I mentioned before, Russia was a growing boy so he probably vacuumed everything put in front of him. Therefore, he **psuedo-chokes** and struggles to swallow everything.  
**Borscht** is a red soup made from simple ingredients, mostly in parts of the poorer slavic nations. Almost always, the main ingredient is beets, since that seems to be one of the only things you can grow in cold weather, other than potatos, apparently.  
England's brothers **teased him**. A lot. Which sucks. I mean, even France does mental damage that Scotland and Ireland and whoever haven't done already. Christ.


End file.
